


Smoke, Not Fire

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Firefighters, First Date, First Time, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff's a fireman. Jensen has an unfortunate tendency to set off smoke alarms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke, Not Fire

**Author's Note:**

> The first ~25% of this was posted as a comment-fic at the [JDM comment-fic meme](http://rozabellalove.livejournal.com/70137.html). It managed to develop a life of its own. ;)

Normally, Jensen hated the smoke alarms in his apartment. It's not like he didn't know the things saved thousands of lives and all that, it's just that they were ridiculously over-sensitive, going off half the time when he cooked--sometimes when there wasn't anything smoking or burning or anything at all. He'd be in the middle of trying to cook a piece of fish and then he'd be running back and forth from one end of the apartment to the other, trying to use the Swiffer handle to hit the buttons on both alarms in order to get them to stop SHRIEKING IN HIS EARS.

Plus, if he didn't get them to shut up within about 45 seconds then the whole building's alarm would go off and he'd have to stand shivering or sweating out in the parking lot while all of his neighbors glared at him. He tried explaining to Mrs. Abernathy down the hall that it was just that his smoke alarms were dysfunctional, but all she did was glare harder, and then her cat hissed in his face for good measure, which was seriously adding insult to injury considering his date had given up and headed home to his own certainly nicer, alarm-free existence. It really wasn't a good night.

In any case, embarrassing as it had been, it was all about a hundred times better than finding himself locked in his own closet with the smoke alarms blaring. The smoke alarms blaring even though he hadn't even been cooking, and he wasn't sure if that or the whole locked in the closet thing was worse.  If he ever got out of his closet without suffocating on the floral-herbal-whatever smoke filling his closet, he was going to fucking kill Misha Collins for telling him that burning the right kind of incense would clear out the bad mojo from his love life or something like that. Now, maybe Jensen had gone overboard, sticking two packs worth of incense sticks into the dirt-filled-pot left over from the last houseplant he'd killed and lighting all of them at once. And of course he'd tried to organize his apartment better, locked up all the cleaning supplies in the hall closet even though it had a weird, old latch that couldn't be opened from the inside.

So, yeah, amid the massive cloud of overly-fragrant incense smoke and the blaring smoke alarms, Jensen opened the closet looking for the Swiffer, tripped over his dust buster, ended up a few inches away from an intimate encounter with the Swiffer handle and got stuck in the closet while his apartment's alarm tripped the building's alarm. With nowhere to go, he waited in the semi-dark and surveyed his cleaning products and gadgets, wondering if maybe he didn't need so many of them considering he lived alone and didn't really make that much of a mess. Most of the time.

Finally, he heard a pounding on his door and closed his eyes, hoping they used a master key and not an axe or something to get in the door because he seriously didn't think his renter's insurance would cover that. He let out his breath at the snick of the lock, and then a voice--a wonderfully deep voice--echoed from his living room.

"Anybody in here?"

Jensen pounded on the closet door, rattling it in its frame. "In here! In the closet!" He rolled his eyes at himself, preparing for the humiliation of being looked at like he was a moron by some meathead in a fireman suit. Then the door opened and the meathead had mellow brown eyes, a beard with some grey in it, and thick dark hair that somehow managed to look sexy even though it was fucked up from being underneath the fireman helmet. He looked Jensen up and down and then stepped back, holding the door wide as he murmured something into his radio.

"You okay, sir?" He looked at Jensen, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm really sorry about this."

The fireman looked around, eyes sharp like a tongue of flame was going to suddenly erupt out of the wall. The incense had all burned out, of course, leaving the place smelling like a new age bookstore but looking completely undisturbed. Unlike Jensen, who figured he probably looked completely disturbed.

"What's your name, sir?"

Jensen swallowed hard, seriously hoping he wasn't about to get arrested, if firemen could arrest people. "Jensen Ackles."

"Okay, Mr. Ackles, what happened here?"

"Well, uh." Jensen sighed, thought about making something up about crazed robbers setting off the smoke alarm and locking him in his closet, then thought about how much work it would be to make up a description of them for the police sketch artist or whoever and how much trouble that could lead to. "Apparently lighting twenty-four sticks of incense at one time is a bad idea."

"You think?" The fireman smirked a little, his eyes crinkling up in a way that made Jensen think for a moment about kissing him there. Which, yeah, inappropriate. "So, you hid in your closet to get away from the smoke? You know, usually it's the cats and little kids who we find hiding in the closet instead of exiting the building."

"Yeah, the latch is messed up so the closet is like a roach motel. Not, you know, full of roaches, just that once you get in you can't get out. A human motel, uh, Hotel California. Just really small." Jensen wanted to smack himself to stop his babbling, but somehow the words kept coming, and the fireman's eyebrows rose higher and higher but he didn't lose the smirk--the adorable smirk. "And by the way, I'm not a fan of closets in general. At least, not the kind that hold anything other than clothes. You know what I mean?"

"Indeed I do." The fireman's eyes met Jensen's and then looked him up and down again, this time not so much evaluating him for burns or explosives or whatever he was looking for the first time around. "So, you're feeling okay, no smoke inhalation?"

"I'll be tasting lavender for a week but otherwise a-okay."

The fireman tilted up one eyebrow and shrugged his broad shoulders. "It happens. Well, I'll be on my way. Try to remember to light your incense in a properly ventilated area next time."

He talked into his radio for a moment then stowed it in one deep pocket and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Jensen called out, feeling like he was trapped in some weird mix of a slapstick, a romcom and a porn movie. "I feel like an ass causing all this trouble. Any way I can make it up to you?"

He walked back, his boots making heavy thuds on Jensen's hardwood floor, and then he was standing close enough that Jensen could feel his warmth and smell the acrid traces of smoke on his gear. "I'm on duty another twelve hours but what about dinner. Tomorrow?"

Jensen felt a little high, whether from having a hot fireman three inches away or from the fumes off his jacket he didn't know. "Yeah. Yeah, awesome. Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll pick you up. Know where you live after all."

"Of course you do. Wait! I don't even know your name."

He dug one hand down inside his gear and came out with a glossy business card. "Jeff. Captain Jeffrey Dean Morgan."

"Oh captain, my captain," Jensen whispered to himself, cringing when he realized he'd said it out loud. Jeff just grinned and squeezed one hand on Jensen's shoulder for a quick half-second before turning to leave again, his radio already back in his hand.

Jensen looked at the flower pot on his small dining table, the remains of the incense sticks like tree stumps in a ruined landscape after a fire.  Then again, maybe they really had cleared out the bad mojo from his love life. Suddenly, Jensen didn't want to kill Misha after all.

~~~

Jensen spent the morning at work getting absolutely nothing done beyond the bare necessities. He took his calls, yeah, talked to co-workers who came by or e-mailed. He handled the few things that had a deadline of right-fucking-now and hoped he didn't completely screw up, but 90% of his mind was on his upcoming dinner date with _Captain_ Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He wondered where they might go to eat and what he should wear, and he wondered if Jeff liked to be called Captain in bed.

The problem was that it had been months since Jensen's last real date. It's not that he couldn't get a date, fuck no, but he'd turned thirty and he was tired of screwing guys who would never leave their wives and guys who got him hot but couldn't keep his interest past the second date. The truth was that when you're not a kid yourself it sucks to want older guys because all the guys who seem right are married or partnered or deeply fucked up in some way that made them bad news. Jensen wished he had a thing for brainless twinks, but the last time he'd spent the night with one he realized halfway through that _he_ was the Daddy in this particular kid's fantasy, and if that wasn't a buzzkill nothing was.

It was traumatic, for real. Jensen spent the morning pouring out his angst to Jared over spiked coffees and got diagnosed with post-twink squick disorder for his trouble. It sucked, and it killed his mojo dead. He couldn't walk around a club feeling good about himself when he felt like the older guys giving him the eye were probably self-loathing married ministers and the younger guys battling their lashes wanted to lick his chest hair or something.

Not that he had chest hair--he waxed it, for god's sake. And he wasn't exactly a gorilla to begin with. Jesus. His mojo was hiding itself from the horror, and all his obsessing over it got him was a couple packages of incense sticks. Which, well, yeah.

At lunchtime, Misha looked ridiculously smug as he asked what time Jeff was picking him up for the date, and Jensen realized he had no idea. For some reason, he'd been thinking 7 pm, but as he played their conversation back in his head he realized that neither of them had given a time. He pulled the glossy fire department business card out of his wallet and looked at the cell number on the back.

He did the mental math and realized that twelve hours had come and gone, so Jeff would be off his shift, probably asleep. Hoping that Jeff's phone accepted texts, he typed in the number and started a new message, working his thumbs over the tiny keyboard. _Hey, this is Jensen from yesterday._ Jensen bit his lip and decided that didn't sound too stupid.   _What time do you plan on for dinner tonight?_ Okay, he still had plenty of characters left. _Anytime after six is good for me._

Holding his breath, Jensen hit send. He sat staring at his phone for a minute, but it didn't buzz with a new text. Which, of course, Jeff was asleep so he'd just have to wait. No problem. Jensen twitched, stood up and walked in the direction of the vending machine. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Jensen was in the middle of rushing home through traffic when his phone buzzed against his thigh. When he finally got to a light, he pulled the phone out, hoping it was Jeff, hoping it wasn't Jeff saying he was outside Jensen's apartment or Jeff canceling. _7 good?_

Jensen let out the breath he'd been holding.   _Perfect. See you then._ A heavy honk from the car behind him reminded Jensen to look up at the light, which of course was green. He pulled away from the light, smiling up at the guy flipping him off in his rear-view mirror. He had an hour and a half and then _Captain_ Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Of course, an hour and a half sounded like a lot until you factored in road construction and the fact that Jensen had no fucking clue where they were going to eat. Deciding on what pants to wear wasn't hard; he had a pair of black slacks that was appropriate more or less anywhere and hugged his ass like they'd been sewn to fit his body. Jared called them his "ass-pants for the ass-ets," and really--he had a point. Shoes weren't a big decision either; his new black cap-toe Oxford were classy but understated, hard to go wrong.

The problem was what shirt to wear. Holy Nina Garcia, what shirt? He quite possibly had too many shirts, and they hung on his neat row of fuzzy Huggable Hangers like a curtain of choices from hell. He thought about the green silk shirt--it felt wonderful against his skin, and it brought out his eyes like crazy, but it was too much, much too much. He could go with a French blue dress shirt with the top button undone and no tie, act like he'd just rolled home from work and begun to get comfortable, but somehow that didn't feel right.

He could stick with the green idea and wear the shirt with the tiny gingham print in green. He went so far as to pull it out of the closet and hold it against himself when he remembered that without a jacket over top it made him look like he was trying out for some kind of Little House on the Prairie reboot. Not cool. Finally he settled on a shirt with thin stripes of white and almost-grey-plum just in time to shave, fix his hair, brush his teeth and get dressed before seven.

He had a close call of almost dumping half a bottle of after-shave on himself, and it was ridiculous that after a dozen years of dating guys (and a few years dating girls in high school, but that only counted when he was having a brief spasm of heterosexual attraction) he was at the point where the prospect of a date with a hot guy had his hands trembling and his heart beating too quickly in his chest. He sat down on his sofa and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths and trying to relax so that he didn't end up spazzing out and dumping a glass of wine on Jeff's lap or something like that. Breathe in. Try to remember the meditation class he took with an old boyfriend. Remember, instead, how things had ended with said boyfriend. Not helping. Not helping.

When the knock came at the door, it shocked Jensen out of his reverie. It was different, though, not the fireman BANGBANGBANG from the day before, just a brisk rapping--knuckles instead of the side of a fist. Jensen thought about Jeff's fingers and had to drag his mind out of the gutter before he had to answer the door with a face flushed pink. He stood up, brushed his hands over his clothes to smooth out invisible wrinkles and opened the door.

Out of his fireman outfit, Jeff looked trimmer--still broad as hell across the shoulders but his chest tapered down to a small waist, and his clothes didn't hide any bit of it. He had on charcoal gray pants and a pearl gray dress shirt that set off the bits of gray in his bead (which Jensen liked far too much) and gave some light to his dark brown eyes. He looked good, really good, and after a moment Jensen realized he was staring without saying anything.

"Hey, sorry, just didn't recognize you without the fireman outfit." Jensen smiled, tried for winning and cute rather than vapid.

"I know, it surprises people sometimes, but I do own clothes that aren't county-issued." Jeff smirked. "You ready to go?"

"I'm starving," Jensen answered, and it was the god's honest truth, even if he wasn't thinking much about food. He ran back to turn off the light and then followed Jeff out the door, locking the door behind him.

Jeff's truck was dark and glossy, not new but well cared for, and Jensen swung himself up into the seat to see Jeff smiling at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Jeff shook his head and looked away to start the truck, the smile still showing in the dimple in the cheek facing Jensen. "Just thinking that it's weird, I know your name and where you live, but not what you do for a living or anything else. And here we are, going to dinner."

"Hey, all I know is that you put out fires for a living. For all I know you could have a wife and three kids at home." Jensen shut his mouth, resisting the urge to put his hands over his face. He really, seriously did not mean to say that out loud.

Jeff just laughed, cracking up and even snorting a little as he pulled onto the main road. "Yeah right, not even close. I have a dog who belongs to the guys at the station as much as me, that's the only kind of kid in the picture for me. And I've been single for a couple years, just kind of focusing on work."

"Yeah, I get that. Sorry for--" Jensen let the phrase hang out there, not sure how to finish it.

"It's okay. So what _do_ you do when you're not trying to asphyxiate yourself on sage?"

Jensen laughed. "Nothing exciting, just marketing and some inside sales. Total office drone. Nothing like what you do."

"You know what I do most of the time? I hang around the fire house doing paperwork, and then we get a call, gear up, roll out, and it's just a false alarm at some warehouse, a short in a light fixture in an old office building, somebody who thinks their house is on fire after smoke drifts in from a neighbor's cookout."

"Or some idiot lights too much incense and locks himself in the closet."

Jeff turned to look at Jensen for a second before returning his eyes to the road. "That was a new one, I have to say.  The job has its moments when it's way, way too exciting, but about 95% of it is administrative crap, for me, and milk runs."

"You're killing my fantasy here." Jensen grinned, even if Jeff couldn't see it.

"I'll try to do better in the future," Jeff answered, his voice droll. "Okay, are you good with seafood?"

"Well, only if you want to show off your fireman skills again when I keel over."

"Allergic?"

"Shellfish."

"Noted! Okay." Jeff rubbed at the scruff on his chin with one hand while he looked around at the nearby restaurants. "Steak?"

"That sounds great. Sorry about the seafood thing."

"Nah, it's no problem."

The only problem was that the line went out the door, families and couples overflowing the benches and the sidewalk. The second and third places they tried were the same, and Jensen was starting to think they were going to spend their first date eating at Wendy's. Then he had to stop himself--first date? Even just inside his head, that sounded like a whole lot of presumption that there would be a second date. "Um, well," Jensen hedged. "We can go wherever."

Jeff pulled the truck into a parking spot and took his hands off the wheel, rubbing them over his thighs in a way that made Jensen think about pulling Jeff closer, kneeling up on the seat and throwing a leg over Jeff's lap, fucking up both their clothes in the close confines of the truck. "This is crazy, man," Jeff said, knocking Jensen out of his fantasy. "Tell me if I'm off-base here, and we can go looking for someplace else to eat. But my place--I've got plenty of food at my place. There's even a lasagna in the fridge, put it together this afternoon, just needs to bake. And bread. Wine."

"Fuck, yeah. Yeah." Jensen nodded. "You live far from here?"

"Not far at all." Jeff lifted his hand toward the keys where they dangled from the ignition and then changed course, putting his hand on Jensen's thigh where it lay warm and heavy, tan against the black wool blend. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jensen breathed into the arousal growing in his belly and jostled his leg a little under Jeff's hand. "Drive already, would you? I don't want to get us arrested here in the Outback parking lot."

"Good idea." Jeff's voice was low, gravelly, and when he took his hand back to start driving Jensen concentrated on each bit of heat as it dissipated from his skin. Minutes later, the truck screeched to a halt in front of a one-story house with a small, neat yard. Jensen stumbled as he exited the truck, forgetting for a second how high above the ground it was, and then he was behind Jeff on the front steps.

Inside, as the door swung shut behind Jensen, Jeff grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. Stubble scraped a thrill of sensation on Jensen's cheeks, and Jeff's lips were strong against his. Jensen opened his mouth, sighing into the kiss, and Jeff's tongue slipped inside, briefly, too-briefly, before Jeff pulled away. "Just a sec, I just gotta--"

He strode off toward the kitchen, and Jensen heard the fridge door open and close, the slight metallic squeal of the oven door opening and the thud of it closing. Before he had time to really look around, see beyond the overstuffed couches and dark wood furniture, Jeff was back. "Come on," he said, cupping one hand around Jensen's arm and tugging him the first few steps toward the back of the house.

Jensen started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked, while Jeff just undid the few few buttons on his before pulling shirt and undershirt up over his head, revealing a broad expanse of back that tapered into a narrow waist, skin Jensen wanted to touch. Jensen really didn't want to fuck up his own shirt, but it had been too, too long and his fingers shook as he tried to undo his buttons more quickly. He stepped into Jeff's bedroom with only his first three buttons open, and he breathed out hard with frustration, wanting to kick himself in the face.

"Hey." Jeff's voice was low and calm as he flicked on the light and then put his hands over Jensen's. He took over unbuttoning Jensen's shirt, his long fingers slipping around the small buttons with ease, and then pulled the shirt off and draped it over a chair. Then Jeff's arms were around Jensen, their bare chests pressed together in a wash of contact that made Jensen's head spin. "God," Jeff sighed, and Jensen knew exactly what he meant.

Jensen sank into the hold for a minute but the press of Jeff's cock against his thigh and the pinch of his own cock compressed in his pants got his attention. Luckily, undoing his belt and the clasp and fly on his pants was easier than all the little buttons of his shirt. He pushed everything down and stepped out his socks and shoes, and when he turned around from putting his pants on the chair he caught Jeff watching him with heavy eyes. Jensen smiled nervously, suddenly feeling very naked. "You good?"

"Damn, Jensen." Jeff smiled a wicked grin, those dimples making an appearance again. "Nice as your ass looked in those pants, it's even better out of them."

Jensen felt himself blush, but he let it go, reaching forward to slip his thumbs into the lines of muscle on Jeff's arms. "Care to even up the playing field?"

Jeff hurried to take off his pants, letting them pool on the floor as Jensen ran his hands over the curves of Jeff's chest. "So, what do you want?"

 _All of this,_ Jensen thought. _All of it._ He looked down at Jeff's cock, bobbing dark and heavy between his thighs. "You in me."

"We don't--you sure?"

Jensen reached down and wrapped his hand lightly around Jeff's length, playing his thumb up over the head, just enough to tease, to make Jeff's breathing speed up, his belly touching Jensen's hand with each inhalation. "Really sure."

Jensen shouldn't have been surprised by Jeff's strength, but he was, catching his breath on a gasp as Jeff swung him around to the king-size bed. He shouldn't have been surprised by Jeff's carefulness either, his insistence on taking his time getting the condom on right and preparing Jensen, teasing him with lube-slicked fingers for what felt like forever. It had been so long, and that was the problem. Finally, he wrapped his legs around Jeff's back. "Now," he insisted. "It's good. Now."

Jeff let the bottle of lube drop to the bed and closed his eyes, dropping his head to sigh in Jensen's ear. "Yeah?"

"NOW." Jensen repeated, squeezing his hands around Jeff's biceps.

Jeff moved then, backing up and slipping his hands around Jensen's ass. Then Jensen felt the blunt pressure of Jeff's cock and he pushed inside with a quick burst of pain and then a wave of so-good-so-full-so-good. The slowness and gentleness fell away as Jeff pulled out and pushed in again, his weight and movement a welcome pressure on top of Jensen. Sweat pooled between their bodies, and Jensen arched up into the firm weight of Jeff's chest and stomach, fucking as he got fucked. Surrounded and surrounding and absolutely overwhelmed, Jensen heard Jeff coming, felt Jeff's hands clench tight on his shoulders, and the spark of pain was enough to break through the wash of sensation and push him over the edge. He held Jeff still, pushed up against him and came all over both of their chests.

As Jensen panted, working on getting his breath back to something resembling normal, Jeff rolled off just far enough to lay on his side next to Jensen. "Mmmm," Jeff hummed.

"Yeeeaaah," Jensen drawled.

"Mmm, I'll get a cloth to clean us up," Jeff mumbled. "In a minute."

Jensen nodded and closed his eyes, nudging his way fractionally closer to the warmth of Jeff's body. He woke up an indeterminate amount of time later thinking somebody was at the door. Or his phone was going off. Maybe his alarm? Then the alarm was five times as loud and Jensen sat up, eyes wide as he took in Jeff's bedroom and Jeff scrambling up from the bed next to him.

"Oh, fuck!" Jeff jumped up--naked, chest crusty with Jensen's dried come and ran out of the bedroom. Now that he was awake, Jensen could smell smoke. He stood up and grabbed his boxers, stepping into them as he followed Jeff out into the hallway and down to the kitchen. Jeff had the kitchen window open wide and the fan over the oven running on high, a charred pan of lasagna still smoking in the open oven.

Jensen spotted a broom propped next to the fridge, and he grabbed it before heading back to the smoke alarm in front of the bedroom door. The harsh shriek of the alarm was starting to make him crazy, but he focused on the button and jabbed up at it until it finally shut up. Jensen turned around to see Jeff standing on a chair, turning off the alarm nearest the kitchen, and then it was finally quiet other than the faint ringing in Jensen's ears.

"You gonna dance for me while you're up there."

Jeff looked down at his naked self and snorted as he climbed down from the chair. "I think you did this to me. Must be cursed."

"Hell, seems like a pretty good curse to me. At least we got the alarms shut off before your buddies from the station showed up."

Jeff laughed then, shaking his head. "They've seen worse than my naked ass, believe me."

"I bet." Jensen grabbed a paper towel and wet it, handing it to Jeff so he could clean himself up. "So, that was dinner, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." Jeff's stomach grumbled audibly, and as he looked up Jensen tried and failed to suppress his grin.

"I have an idea. Why don't you go put on some underwear or something in case any of your neighbors haven't seen the show yet?"

"God," Jeff groaned, peering out into the darkness and then walking back toward the bedroom.

Jensen rummaged through the fridge, and when Jeff came back in soft sleep pants that left little to the imagination he had bread and cheese and a bottle of red wine sitting out on the coffee table in the living room, along with a couple of glasses and plates.

"Damn, that looks pretty good. But if I drink that wine on top of just bread and cheese there's no way I'm driving you home tonight."

"Yeah?" Jensen let himself relax back into the soft upholstery of the couch. "I'm okay with that."

Jeff picked up the glasses and bottle and sat down next to Jensen, his body a line of heat alongside Jensen's. "Me too." He poured a glass and handed it to Jensen. "Me too."


End file.
